Flirt
by Rosamanelle
Summary: He wasn't sure what made him go into the little barber shop on the corner of Ruben St. and Elder Rd. one day after work, but he now he was regretting it for sure. Rated T because of implied themes.


Heels clicked against the ground innocently, ringing out in the almost empty, old-fashioned barber shop. A tall blonde with an enviable body and pretty face stopped in front of him, a sly half-smile crossing her face as she batted her long eyelashes. She wore a pale green shirt and a high-waisted blue tulle skirt.

No nametag.

"Welcome. Take a seat anywhere you want; the barber will be out soon. You're welcome to do anything here - no limits, no rules - except for one." She leaned forwards, invading his personal space and biting on her lower lip flirtatiously. He leaned back subconsciously, hitting the wall with a light thud. She smiled again, green eyes glinting mischievously. He found he couldn't look away from those green eyes, inexplicably drawn in. "Just look; don't touch."

With that she retreated, turning to walk away, hips swaying from side to side almost hypnotically as she passed through a back door labelled 'STAFF ONLY.' He swallowed nervously, hand going to loosen his tie slightly, suddenly feeling hot.

He just wanted a haircut, not... whatever this was!

Recalling the blonde's words, he silently took a seat in one of the shiny black chairs, taking the time to observe the barber shop more closely.

The walls were painted a warm, burnt red-orange, black-and-white pictures and news clippings hung on the wall in shiny mahogany frames. The entire structure of the place was open, barber chairs and mirrors lining one side, a small waiting area - in which he was currently seated - on the other. In front of him was a table, bare with the exception of a plain white book labelled 'Haircuts for Men.'

He wasn't sure what prompted him to walk into this place. He knew that he needed a haircut - his hair was falling into his face, and there was nothing he could do about it - and he just so happened to see the little barber shop on his way home from work. It was unnamed, the only indicator of its trade being the pair of scissors painted on the window, the word 'Barber' painted carefully above it.

Suspicious, he knew. But he still ended up coming in. Was he crazy? Maybe. Now he was beginning to question his decision.

Finally, after a long bout of internal debating, he stood up, ready to leave. Before he could exit, a large picture frame caught his eye. Besides its large size, its shiny golden frame drew in his attention. Walking closer, he studied it carefully. It was a newspaper clipping from the 1960s, listing several missing men with their names, basic stats, and last sightings.

Creepy.

"Oh? Going already?"

This was a new voice. Turning around, he came face-to-face with two different women. The first had pale skin and a svelte frame, medium-length silver hair elegantly draped over her shoulders. She wore a pink two-piece dress littered with white polka dots, the hem short enough to show off as much of her slender legs as possible.

The second woman was almost her polar opposite, tall and moderately built. Her long red hair was braided, a comb tucked behind her left ear. Dark pants clung to her legs like an infant clung to its mother, offset by a crisp white turtleneck and yellow blazer.

No name tags on either of them, too.

The silver-haired woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a glimmering blue crystal hanging from her earlobe. "You _are_ here for a haircut, are you not?" She had been the one speaking earlier, he realized. The redhead remained silent, her pale lips curved into a slight smirk.

Nodding silently, slightly bewildered - he hadn't heard either of them enter the main part of the shop - he let the duo guide him over to a washing station. The silver-haired woman began to rinse his hair, lathering it generously. The redhead stayed silent.

The silver-haired woman started to talk, chattering about things as she washed his hair. He found him not paying attention to what she was saying, instead fixating on the way her lips moved.

Uh-oh.

This was dangerous.

Averting his eyes, he glanced at the redhead who sat on a nearby chair, legs crossed. Her red eyes bored into him intensely, white teeth gently digging into her lower lip. He exhaled shakily. She was gorgeous, too.

Also dangerous.

Soon, the silver-haired woman was finished, quickly drying his hair and ushering him over to a barber chair and pulling a hair apron over him. The redhead pulled out a pair of scissors, fingers dancing along his shoulder lightly. He stiffened, eyes widening. Did she just-?

Lightly pulling his head back, the redhead glanced at her companion, who simply nodded and walked to the back room. Odd. He wondered how many of them were back there.

The sound of scissors cutting his hair brought his attention back to the redhead, who leaned in _way_ too close to see what she was doing, her breath ghosting over his face gently. His eyes found hers, slightly uncomfortable with their proximity. The redhead simply winked at him. He spluttered.

After several agonizing moments, the redhead finally pulled away, combing loose hairs away and onto the floor. Letting her scissors hit the station out with a clatter, the redhead opened a small closet and pulled out a broom to start sweeping. Before he could stand up, a hand firmly clasped his shoulder, pulling him down and back onto the chair.

"Ah-ah, we're not done yet. Don't look so eager to leave, hon."

Eyes wide, he stared at the newcomer - a petite woman with bright purple locks tied in a bun by a pink ribbon. She wore a striped mini-dress, one manicured hand resting on her collar bone. His eyes found and trailed down the expanse of her long neck, before he shook his head and snapped back up to her eyes.

She smirked knowingly, waving a shaving brush at him. "Comes with the cut, hon."

He was about to protest - really, he didn't have any facial hair to shave - but the small purplenette forced him down with a surprising amount of strength, straddling his lap and slathering the shaving cream all over his face, reaching into what looked to be a back pocket and pulling out a shaving blade.

He swallowed nervously.

The purplenette's hands were shaking like crazy.

Slowly, she began to scrape away the shaving cream, the blade shaking against his skin. He started to panic. What if she slit his neck? Shouldn't her hands be more steady? Oh my god, what if he died because of her?

Finally having enough, his hand shot up, grabbing hers. "Please, just wash the rest off. I don't need the shave."

She raised an eyebrow, something wicked flashing within her eyes. "If you say so, hon. Just let me call in the stylist, then you can go. Comes with the cut, hon."

Suddenly the blonde's words rang through his head.

 _Just look; don't touch._

Before he knew it, all the remaining shaving cream was wiped off and the blonde from before had returned, hands buried in his hair as she fixed it and styled it carefully. The other three woman stood behind him, eyes fixed on him intently.

He gulped, uncomfortable under their stares.

The blonde giggled, holding out her hand once she was done. The redhead silently handed her a camera - one of those old polaroid cameras - which the blonde lifted to her face.

"Smile for the camera!"

She took the picture before he could react, gently grasping the fresh picture. Judging it critically, she nodded in satisfaction. "You look handsome here. Very good, very good." She smiled brilliantly, eyelashes fluttering once more.

He stood up quickly, ready to get the hell out of this creepy barber shop and be on his way. "Hold on a minute, hon," the purplenette called, a smirk creeping up on her face.

The blonde walked up to him, picking up his tie and tightening it gently, leaning in close. "I warned you: just look, don't touch." She let out a sigh. "And you were doing so well, too. Gotta respect the girl, you know." Suddenly her face morphed, delicate features twisting into something horrific, teeth and nails elongating. The trio behind him did the same, paralyzing him on the spot with fear.

Then everything went black.

* * *

A little, old-fashioned barber shop sat on the corner of Ruben St. and Elder Rd., almost quaint in appearance. Inside, a blonde walked up to a large picture frame, heels clicking on the ground. Gently, she taped a polaroid photo across one of the faces of missing men, a smirk crossing her face as she let her hand fall.

The bells by the door rang, signalling the entrance of a customer.

She turned, a flirtatious expression crossing her face as she smiled at the customer. "Welcome. Take a seat anywhere you want; the barber will be out soon. You're welcome to do anything here - no limits, no rules - except for one."

Her smirk broadened.

"Just look; don't touch."

\- END -

* * *

[A/N:]

Just a little something to keep my creative juices running. Conspiracy theories are more than welcome; I want to know what you think goes on in this barber shop! This was heavily inspired by the song _AAH OOP;_ it's really retro-sounding and about being in relationships with men who think they're better than you. Yup.

Feel free to imagine the lead male as whoever you want; I specifically wrote it to be open-ended. Also, has anyone else noticed that my cover art style has evolved (because I make my own)? I just noticed. I think I like this new style better, to be honest. What do you think? And that's really all I have to say.

So! Don't forget to R&R, follow and favorite if you want, and see you all next chapter!

| Rosamanelle


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